


Love in this club

by TeaHouseMoon



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: AU, Dancing, Elio and Oliver meet in a club, First Time, M/M, One Night Stand, Sex, Shameless Smut, Slow Dancing, Smut, Songfic, porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21832468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaHouseMoon/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: Oliver meets Elio in a club. Smut ensues.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 22
Kudos: 195





	Love in this club

**Author's Note:**

> This was bouncing around in my head for a while. It’s inspired by Love in this club by Usher, and I’m not even sorry lol. It’s one of my favourite songs and it’s sexy and I couldn’t help but seeing our boys in this situation. 
> 
> It’s smut! Not much plot! Just something for a bit of fun! Not much else to it. Hope you enjoy :)

The music was loud.

Oliver thought twice. Did he really want to go to this club, however peculiar and interesting it seemed, with its open air dancefloor and the retro tunes that made everyone seem like they were from the eighties?

Oliver usually did not go clubbing, didn’t like it, but what the hell - he was on holiday. And so he went.

The club was popular. Most of the people in there seemed young, teenagers or just slightly older. Oliver rolled his eyes, and went to the bar.

He ordered a Jack Daniels and then turned around, to watch the crowd, the stroboscopic lights that bathed the place in a pyrotechnic fashion. Aside from the fact that this was an open air place, it was the same as any other club he’d been to. 

There were people dancing; people with drinks in their hands, people smoking, the grey clouds of nicotine lingering on them and around them like shadows. The music was something Oliver remembered vaguely, something popular those days - he wasn’t one to go for popular music, usually, and so he wouldn’t have been able to name the title of the song or, even less, the singer, but yes, he’d heard the tune before.

And then, he saw something. 

Someone, standing just outside of the dance floor. A drink in his hand, a cigarette in the other; talking to a girl with long, curly hair.

Oliver held his eyes on the boy. Had he seen him somewhere before? He didn’t think so, and yet, he seemed familiar. 

He was tall, and slim. He had dark hair that curled around his ears and on his forehead. Oliver watched him as he talked to the girl, watched his mouth, the red, full lips. He found himself wondering what colour his eyes were.

Oliver took a sip of his drink. Nearly finished, and he hadn’t even noticed, busy as he had been observing the boy by the dance floor. He certainly needed another.

He bit the side of his cheek, and then walked to the bar, making space amongst the bodies on the dancefloor, breathing cigarette smoke and alcohol fumes. He motioned to the bartender to bring him another of the same. And before he could turn around to look back at the floor, he stopped in his tracks. 

The boy was by the bar counter, too, just a few steps away from him.

Oh. What the hell.

“This is certainly an interesting place,” Oliver spoke close to the boy, for him to hear. Not the most inventive of opening lines, for sure. 

But the boy looked up at him; smiled briefly.

“If by interesting you mean, the only place around here to go clubbing, then yes. Interesting for sure.”

His eyes glimmered, and he didn’t seem to be actually criticising the place. Just probably making conversation, and Oliver smiled briefly back, pleased that at least he wasn’t being shrugged off.

“I didn’t see many such places around, no.”

“You not from here?”

The boy had turned towards Oliver, only his side leaning against the counter now, looking at him.

“No. I’m from New York.”

“Oh. My dad is from there,” the boy nodded, and then reached to grab the drink the bartender had left on the counter for him, taking a sip.

“Hence no Italian accent?”

“Hence no Italian accent.”

Oliver nodded, smiled. He looked around once more, but then brought his eyes back to the boy, not wanting him to feel like their conversation was over. He wanted to say more, but he didn’t know what - he loathed to seem desperate or, worse, creepy.

Before he could say anything, though, the boy spoke again.

“I’m Elio, by the way.”

He was smiling, again, though a little sheepish perhaps, and Oliver smiled back.

“Oliver.”

Elio looked at him, smiled, a little shyly - and Oliver thought that he really, really liked this boy. 

The music became louder all of a sudden, one song transictioning into a new, louder one. Oliver didn’t mind it one bit. 

He leant in, slightly, to speak closer to Elio’s ear.

“What are you drinking, Elio?” And then, when Elio responded, “Let me buy you another one.”

His voice had dropped without Oliver even having to plan it. He kept his eyes firmly on Elio, as the boy smiled again, looked down, and he was demurring then, and Oliver felt like growling. 

The night had taken a new, definitely interesting turn, and Oliver hadn’t planned on sleeping with anyone, but it that was what was going to happen, then he was definitely game for it.

“Come dance?” Elio whispered, looking up at Oliver from under his eyelashes. “You can buy me another drink after.”

Oliver finished the last sip of his Jack Daniels, smirked. “That my reward?”

The lights from the dancefloor were bathing Elio’s skin in different colours. And Oliver hated it, because he could tell the boy’s skin was pale, ivory, perfect and delicate, a marble statue. He really wanted to be allowed to bite it before the night was over.

And Elio took a step forward, towards him. Oliver was tall, very tall, and so the boy had to raise his face to look into his eyes. His lips were full, red. Inviting.

“Yes. That’s your reward. That’s some of your reward.”

Oliver smirked gently again, but he felt all the muscles in his body go rigid with desire. Fuck, this kid. He needed to take the reins back into his hands before this boy wrecked him with just the mischievous light that shone in his innocent, doe-eyed gaze.

He reached out, placed his hand on Elio’s waist.

Elio smiled again, and Oliver had to curse the lights once more, because he was sure Elio’s cheeks were red by now, flushed and warm. He looked like a beautiful, virginal angel, one Oliver really, really wanted to take for himself, to ruin.

And as if on cue, the music changed again. Something slower, something more acoustic, something Oliver had never heard before. He barely registered the change, though, because he kept his eyes into Elio’s, and Elio smiled again, wrapped his fingers around Oliver’s wrist, on the hand that he’d placed on Elio’s waist.

“Come and dance,” Elio said again, and pulled Oliver with him to the side of the dancefloor, away from the revellers who now had split into pairs and couples, mostly, many embracing, slowly swaying to the music. 

Oliver didn’t dance. Oliver wasn’t the person who danced. Yet, he let Elio pull his arms around his slim waist; their stomachs touching, chest to chest. 

Elio was still smiling, and his hands travelled up along Oliver’s biceps, up to his shoulders.

Oliver breathed. He’d had a few drinks, and his belly was warm, with alcohol, and with adrenaline. And now desire, too. Arousal. He wasn’t here to dance - perhaps he could amuse Elio for a few moments, go along with his charade. But he wasn’t here for that. His evening had looked like it could be boring, now things had changed - and he needed to seize the moment. Take what was offered to him.

He let his hands slide lower; on Elio’s backside, covered by the tight fabric of his jeans.

Elio did not complain.

They weren’t really dancing. For all his insistence, Elio was holding still, not initiating anything, just holding his arms around Oliver’s shoulders, gazing up at him. Oliver smiled once more, and then leant down, slid the tip of his nose alongside Elio’s neck, the side of his throat. Breathing him in. 

He smelled good. He smelled heady. Young. Unmarred, untouched, wild.

Oliver let his lips kiss a patch of Elio’s skin, felt him shiver against himself. His hands followed a path up Elio’s sides, slowly, and then down again. Down to his thighs, back, to cup his behind, hold it in his hands. He wasn’t being subtle, but he didn’t want to be.

He let his lips slide down Elio’s collarbone, until he could kiss right in the middle, down at the base of Elio’s throat. The skin was so warm, so smooth, and Oliver could feel the boy’s heartbeat. It was fast. 

Elio’s slender hands were up on his head, fingers into Oliver’s hair, squeezing the strands, encouraging. 

And Oliver smiled against ivory skin when he felt Elio’s hips move, slow, against his, as if he couldn’t help it, as he if he hadn’t even noticed.

“May as well give me a kiss,” Oliver whispered in Elio’s ear. Made him shiver again. “If we keep touching like this.”

It was bold, but they’d pushed the boundary now anyway. And Elio looked up, smiled slightly, his eyes gleaming. 

He raised on tiptoes, and pressed his lips against Oliver’s.

It was instantly heavenly, just what Oliver had been waiting for, just what he needed after days of solitude and frustrated, unspent lust on his own, and he pushed into the kiss and made Elio open his mouth, held his face in his hands to guide his movements.

He’d forgotten they were in a club, he’d forgotten they were in public - in truth, he didn’t even care. He kissed the boy for as long as he felt, then let his hands slide down his body until he could touch him again, down his back and flanks and hips and backside.

Elio moaned gently against his mouth; his hips still moving against Oliver’s.

“Let’s have another drink,” the boy murmured, his breath laboured. Obviously still well aware of where they were.

“What do you want to drink?,” Oliver growled against Elio’s cheek. “I’m gonna keep it coming all night long.”

Elio’s smile, his shy laughter, was the most precious thing in the world right then. Oliver held him against himself, kissed the side of his throat. He felt drunk already, his body warm, getting warmer.

Hand in his, Elio led him back to the bar. Oliver watched him order - ‘Two double JD and coke’, his Italian lilting on his lips, and Oliver pulled him back to himself as soon as the bartender turned around, kissed him deeply again.

The liquor burning on his tongue, Oliver kept kissing the boy in between sips. He had him with his back against the bar counter, thanked the stroboscopic lights and smoke that hid all kinds of sins on that dancefloor; Elio’s hips were moving, slowly, against his, his eyes closed, head thrown back in surrender.

“I want - I want,” he murmured, opening his eyes, looking up into Oliver’s face. His lips were swollen and scarlet, and Oliver felt like growling. “Make love to me, Oliver.”

The words sounded sinful, and out of place at the same time. Like there was danger but also a strange kind of purity to them. And if Oliver had been sober, he would have taken a moment to consider their options - but right now, he was just as helpless as Elio was.

He kissed his lips again, his throat with a low growl, and then intertwined their fingers together and led Elio away from the dancefloor. His car was parked nearby; he fully intended to sleep in it, that night, he couldn’t drive anywhere, drunk as he was.

“I would normally fuck in the bathroom,” Oliver said, leaning back against the car and pulling Elio to himself, wrapping his arms around his slender body.

“But I get a car,” Elio said, smiled. He was game.

Oliver opened the door, let Elio climb in to the back seat, climbed in after him. Started kissing him straight away, rolling up his shirt.

“Off.”

“You too. Please.”

Oliver didn’t even care if it wasn’t wise to be naked in a car. The trees crowded around it, hiding it from view. He was drunk. And Elio was beautiful. Young, angelic, sexy and willing. A sin personified, something that wasn’t going to happen to Oliver again. And he was damned if he wasn’t going to seize the moment, forgetting everything else.

“C’mere,” he murmured, his throat parched with the desire he felt. He pulled back and helped Elio lay under him. He stroked up Elio’s thigh; stroked in between his legs, and pulled Elio’s hand on himself.

“Fuck,” the boy mumbled, his eyes closed. “Fuck.”

Oliver was aware they didn’t have long. He didn’t have long; if he wasn’t inside that beautiful boy soon, he was going to scream. And so he sucked two fingers into his mouth, brought them down to Elio’s entrance, pushed them in slowly. One, then the other, then two together, feeling Elio squirm, quietly moaning, his hips moving through the sensation, his eyes still closed.

“I want you so much,” Oliver murmured against his chest, his own eyes closed and his mouth on the warm skin that he found there. He kissed a nipple, pushing his fingers deeper. Listened to the heartbeat beneath Elio’s delicate ribs; to his stilted breathing, to the way the air moved between them with their sighs.

Then he pulled up, sought Elio’s mouth again, almost blindly. He positioned himself, secured Elio’s thighs around his waist, the position so deliciously, beautifully sinful, the thought of this young man being so whorish, so wanton, so easy, so quickly willing to let Oliver have him - oh fuck, but that was hot - and Oliver knew his mind was following its own path and it was his hormones and the alcohol making him think such things, but it was good, all good. 

Just one moment to grab a condom from his jeans, one more moment to wear it, impatient; and then he pushed forward, into the scalding hot body beneath him.

He felt Elio tense up. His whole body going rigid for a moment, his fingers holding tight into Oliver’s hair and clawing at his shoulder. 

“Hurts,” Elio moaned against Oliver’s collarbone. 

“I know,” Oliver responded. He kissed Elio’s throat. “I know. Shh.”

He held still for a few moments. Then, as slowly as he could, as carefully as he could make himself go, in his drunken, horny state, he started moving. 

“Oliver,” Elio moaned again, his eyes still shut, his fingers still tight in Oliver’s hair. His other hand was holding Oliver’s shoulder back, holding him still, but Oliver knew it was a reflex, an involuntary protection, and so he kissed the side of his throat again gently, whispered in his ear. 

“Just relax, let me in. Everything’s okay, just relax, it will get so much better.”

“You’re big,” Elio cried out gently, as Oliver started moving inside him. 

“You can take me,” Oliver encouraged. He kissed Elio’s mouth, pushed his tongue inside at the same time as he snapped his hips forward. He started a gentle rhythm and then, when Elio began responding to his kiss, he became quicker, his hips moving and his hand holding Elio’s thigh high around his waist. Oliver cried out too, held his eyes closed for a while, let his body enjoy the sensation, let his muscles go. Fucked Elio in earnest. And then he opened his eyes and pulled up on his hands to watch, as the boy’s head arched back, his white, defenceless neck on display, and Oliver let his hand ride up to wrap around it, holding Elio by his throat, able to squeeze if he wanted to, any moment he wanted to, Elio not complaining and not fighting it arousing Oliver even more. He watched as Elio’s curls stuck to his forehead with his sweat; as his cheeks glistened with tears. He bent down to kiss them away; they tasted like honey. 

“Does it feel good,” Oliver asked softly between breaths. “Elio? Does it feel good?”

“Yeah,” Elio breathed out, his body jolted back with every thrust from Oliver’s bigger one. “Feels good.”

Oliver slid his hand back downward, stroked him, faster and faster, until he could feel him contract, close to orgasm; and then he redoubled his pace, bringing the both of them to their climax. When he came, he held still inside for the longest moment, wishing he didn’t have to wear protection, wishing he could be inside him and stay inside him, even after they parted. 

Afterwards, they got dressed in silence. Negotiating the space on the back seat; their hands bumping as they looked for their clothes. 

“I would give you a lift somewhere,” Oliver spoke. His voice was rough. “But I think I’m still not sober enough to drive.”

It was his hint that their encounter was over. And Elio understood, because he nodded, smiled a little. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll - I’ll just go back to the club.”

Oliver nodded, but also, he felt his jaw set. His mind, rebellious, asked to be offended. Was Elio going to look for somebody else to sleep with?

“I don’t do this, usually,” Elio said then, as if reading his mind. He raised his eyes to Oliver, looking at him from under thick, black eyelashes. “I’m not going to sleep with - someone else, now.”

Oliver swallowed. Breathed. “Good. Good, for you.” He felt so awkward - he was never so awkward with his one-night-stands. What the hell.

Elio swallowed too. Nodded.

“Okay, I - I’ll go, then.”

Oliver nodded in return.

“Yes. You should go.”

That was more like him. Sex was good, sex was great. Sex was what he needed. But after, he had his boundaries. He didn’tmake friends with his lovers. They were only there to look good, to be attractive, to be warm, tight bodies to have a good time with. Just like he was to them - a good lover. Nothing else. It was goodbye, afterwards. Oliver didn’t want to have feelings, not with them.

He didn’t help Elio open his door. Just watched him, as he stepped out, closed the door. Looked through the window, smiled briefly and nodded. And then turned around, and walked away.

Oliver sighed.

What was he doing? What was wrong with him? Could he really let Elio go? Really, like this? And never see him again? 

The fact that his heart beat faster as he thought made him recoil. This was wrong, wrong, wrong. He could not let Elio go. Maybe his other lovers, but not Elio. 

He climbed out of the car, walked briskly after the boy. 

“Wait. Elio!”

Elio turned around, frowned, and his brows furrowed adorably above his nose. 

Oliver was in love. 

“You shouldn’t walk back on your own. It’s not safe,” Oliver said, catching up to him. 

Elio looked up. “Oliver, you don’t...”

“I do,” Oliver interrupted him. He reached out; took his hand. “I would like to walk with you. If you’ll let me.”

Elio’s smile grew big, and radiant.

“Yes. Yes. I think I’ll let you.”

Oliver squeezed his fingers, smiled back. Reached out, and kissed his lips again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me a comment and make me happy :))


End file.
